


In Defense of the Ocean

by TheBarkeep



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Artist Jack Kelly, Boys who are great at snuggling but less good at having productive discussions about their problems, Canon Era, Hurt/Comfort, Immigration & Emigration, Implied Sexual Content, Jewish David Jacobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBarkeep/pseuds/TheBarkeep
Summary: Davey does not want to go to the beach, and Jack can't understand why.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	In Defense of the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo! This is my first Javid. I'm giving it a whirl because I have an idea for a multi-chapter fic for them--but never having written them before, I needed a test run. And... I think I like it. I hope you do too! 
> 
> There is no actual sex, but these boys are far better at expressing their feelings physically than with words, so make of that what you will.

Jack remembers the first time he and Davey slept together. Not the first time they made love, though, of course, he remembers that too, but the first time they actually went to sleep next to one another.

They were lying together on Jack’s penthouse bedroll, stripped to their undershirts and cottons shorts. Jack was on his back and Davey’s cheek, red and slick with sweat, rested on his chest. The perspiration coaxed the dark hair at the nape of Davey’s neck into soft, damp curls, and Jack tugged on them, gently. It was too hot to be so close, but they were new then, inexperienced; they touched each other when they could, because there were too many occasions when they assumed they should not.

Davey was stretched lengthwise, his bare feet kicking against the girders of the fire escape. His tapered fingers traced feather soft patterns along Jack’s ribs—until they did not, until they were still, because Davey had fallen asleep. Jack felt the shift in the other boy’s breath, the way the flat muscle of Davey’s chest rose and fell deeper and slower against his side. He had smiled to himself, thinking how lucky he was, letting himself start to drift off. But he wasn’t prepared for the way Davey’s long body collapsed and curled around him. Davey’s legs, dark-haired, firm, nipped in at the ankle, scissored around Jack’s, and his hand suddenly pulled at the fabric of Jack’s undershirt. There was no space left between them. And even though the air was heavy and Jack was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, he didn’t push Davey away. Instead, he’d held on tighter. Because Davey was finally his.

This morning, Davey’s body is slotted against Jack’s in just the same way, but they are in their own bed, in their own apartment, which is what they call their meager room when they mention it to Davey’s parents. It is Sunday. Davey doesn’t have to teach; Jack doesn’t have to report to the newspaper office. The winter light is the kind Jack would love to paint, all pinks and oranges blurring together against the heavy clouds. It is snowing outside, and they are both in long-sleeved union suits, although Jack has pulled the top half of his down around his waist while Davey’s is buttoned up to his collar bone, a whorl of dark chest hair peeping over the seam. The air in the room is cold; they don’t run the stove at night because the coal is too expensive, and the dust settles over Jack’s canvases and Davey’s unmarked papers. It doesn’t matter. Their bodies are warm, knotted together under quilts and afghans.

Davey’s face turns, and he presses a kiss to Jack’s bare chest. “Mornin’.” His voice is husky, his eyes still bleary with sleep. Jack always thinks that Morning Davey is the closest that he’ll ever get to knowing what Davey must have been like as a little boy. He’s less polished, looser, a little silly.

“Mornin’ yourself,” Jack says. He rakes his fingers through Davey’s hair, which sticks up every which way. The wild cowlicks are another element of Morning Davey’s charm.

“ W’time s’it?” Davey asks, uncurling himself, stretching like a cat. He shifts onto his back, and Jack raises the blankets a little and scoots over to make room. His hip rests against Davey’s. The bed is smaller when he’s not folded up in Davey’s long limbs. Neither of them mind.

“It’s near eight.”

Davey nods and digs the sleep out of his eyes. He yawns. “What do you want to do today?”

Jack shifts onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “I think we should go to the beach.” 

Jack’s fingers trail gently down Davey’s buttons, and he can feel it when the other man’s breath catches. He lays the flat of his hand against Davey’s stomach.

“It’s freezing outside,” Davey says. His muscles clench together under Jack’s hand.

Jack rolls forward on his hip, leaning in to nip at Davey’s earlobe. “Ain’t no one else’ll be there. We’ll have it all to ourselves.”

“Jackie.” Davey closes his eyes, but his face is tight and there’s an edge in his voice. 

Jack slides one arm under Davey’s back, wrapping the other around him. He nestles his face into the sinew where Davey’s neck meets his shoulder, breathing in his scent, cold and musky. “I’ll keep you warm. How ‘bout that?” he murmurs into Davey’s skin. The tip of his tongue skates over gooseflesh, and Davey shivers.

“I’m not opposed to that, I’m just—”

Jack snorts. Morning Davey made a quick exit. “Not opposed? Gee, I feel honored.”

“Okay. I’d like that very much,” Davey says. He shimmies down to wrap his arms around Jack, and they are a tangle of arms and legs, a shape that has no name. Cracks of static electricity snap as they press together. Davey rests his forehead against Jack’s. _Pop_. “You keeping me warm.”

“How’s this for starters?” Jack’s fingers notch gently behind Davey’s ears, and his thumbs circle the hinge of Davey’s jaw, scratching against his dark stubble. He draws Davey’s face toward his and hovers just for a moment. Jack smiles. He knows Davey won’t be able to help himself, and sure enough, Davey’s mouth crushes against his, lips parted, tongue pushing, rolling, sliding against Jack’s. After a moment, Jack pulls away, Davey’s bottom lip slipping between his teeth.

“Mmm. Good.” Davey’s head falls backward and Jack laps at the hollow of his throat. A groan.

Jack cups Davey’s cotton-clad ass in his hands and gives it a firm squeeze. “Awright, so let’s get goin’. Ain’t exactly around the corner.”

“We could just stay here?”

“’Cause?”

“Because we can do more of this.” Davey’s fingers slide down Jack’s front. He twists his wrist so that he’s holding Jack in his hand. He tugs. Gently. Firmly. Somehow, Davey’s touch is both at once.

It’s Jack who closes his eyes now. “Oh, well—”

Davey’s hand moves suddenly away, fingers whispering against the inside of Jack’s thigh. Jack’s eyes pop open, and Davey is smiling like the cat who got the cream. “So, we’ll just stay here.” He leans forward and presses a wet, sloppy kiss to Jack’s cheek.

Jack rolls his eyes and moves to flick Davey’s ear. “But I wanna go to the beach. I get it—kind of a weird time and all. But there’s somethin’ about watchin’ the ocean on a day like this—all clear and cold, just watchin’ the waves break up against a beach with no one on it? Soothin’, y’might say.”

“That sounds—nice.” Davey shifts onto his back again, rubbing at his ear.

Jack reaches across Davey, pressing the meat of his palm to the point of the other man’s hip, pinning him to the mattress. “Really, Dave? I get all poetic, and all you got is ‘nice’?”

“What? It does sound nice.” 

Jack shakes his head, and his voice sketches the landscape. “Nice ain’t the word, Dave. It’s—there’s something’ real, I don’t know, _important_ about it, y’know? Like, it reminds you that you’re alive, standin’ there and watchin’ waves that come all the way from somewhere thousands a’ miles away. And it feels like you’re big and small all at the same time. And don’t even get me started on the colors.” Prussian blue. Cerulean. Ultramarine. Green gold. They are colors so close to one another that you cannot tell where one ends and the other begins. But they are different. The nuance is not lost on Jack.

“Yeah.” Davey’s voice is small and far away. He rolls onto his side, and a canyon of blanket dips between them.

“Davey?” Jack reaches, threads his fingers through the messy morning swoops and tendrils of Davey’s hair.

Davey flinches away, too quickly to have thought about what he’s doing. He sighs and reaches behind for Jack’s hand, but he doesn’t turn his head to look. “I—yeah. Maybe we could go another day, huh?” Jack can tell he wants the words to sound casual and sincere. They do not.

He rests a careful hand on Davey’s shoulder. “Davey. What’s goin’ on?”

“I—nothing. Nothing is going on.”

“Well, that’s a stark ravin’ load of bullshit,” Jack says. He tries to keep his tone light. Davey does not like to be coddled. More accurately, Davey does not like to _know_ he’s being coddled.

A half laugh rumbles in Davey’s throat. “You have such a way with words.”

“Don’t try to throw me off. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to,” Davey says simply, and Jack’s hand glides across his back.

“Don’t wanna what?”

“I don’t want to go to the beach.”

“I know it’s cold, but—”

“It isn’t that. I just don’t want to go, okay?” 

“What is it?” Jack leans across the blanket canyon to kiss just behind Davey’s ear, and Davey jerks away.

“Nothing!”

“Nah, I ain’t buyin’ that. That ship’s sailed, Dave,” Jack says. Davey suddenly slides away from his touch and pulls himself up into a hunched seat, legs hanging off the side of the bed. The blankets pool around his hips, and Jack is suddenly colder. Davey’s shoulders are broad, his waist is slender. When Jack draws him, the soft pencil lines that will become Davey make an upside-down triangle. The base of the triangle is curved now. He wraps his arms around himself. He does not look at Jack. “What, I was just—seriously, what’s the matter?”

“I—I’ve never really been to the beach,” Davey confesses to his knees. 

“Okay?” Jack asks, although it isn’t really a question. He elbows toward Davey on the mattress and plops his head into Davey’s lap. He looks up at him, but Davey’s eyes are on the braided rug in the center of their shabby room. Jack lifts his head, ever so slightly, and lets it fall back against Davey’s legs, to remind him, to bring him back. “So, you don’t get what I’m sayin’? That’s okay. We’ll go, and you’ll see.”

“No,” Davey says. He cards his fingers absently through Jack’s hair. He pulls a little too hard, worries too long over the same spot, but Jack knows he doesn’t mean to. Davey sighs. “No, I understand. About being big and small. I do.”

“So—”

“So.” Davey’s hand stills in its motion, his palm caught hovering halfway over Jack’s eyes.

Jack gently pushes Davey’s hand away, wrapping it in his own and bringing it to his lips. “Davey?” He lets their twined hands fall to his chest. Davey’s hand is already cold against his bare skin.

Davey’s fingers twitch, ever so slightly. “I don’t like the ocean.”

Jack can’t help but smile. “What? Can’t swim? Afraid a’ sharks?”

“Jack. Please.” Davey’s voice is hoarse. And no wonder: his throat is a hard line of tendons and veins, his Adam’s apple firm and high.

Shit.

Jack eases upright so that he is sitting next to Davey, hip to hip. He moves carefully, as though he is trying not jostle something fragile, something precious that might fall to the ground and shatter at the slightest bump or shift. This is how it sometimes is with Davey. The moments are infrequent, but they come. He is fine, he is solid, and then, something brushes past him too fast or too hard; he wobbles and wavers, he frets. Rarely does he fall very far. On occasion, there are cracks to patch; usually, Jack catches him before the damage is done.

Like he is trying to do now. 

“Davey?”

“It’s stupid,” Davey murmurs. 

“Not if you’re this upset, it ain’t.” Jack brushes his lips against Davey’s temple, soft as a whisper. He leaves his chin to rest on the cotton shelf of the other man’s shoulder. “Can you tell me?”

Davey cocks his head in hesitation. “It’s really not that—”

“David. C’mon.” 

“It just reminds me of some things I’d rather forget, alright?”

“What does?”

“The ocean, Jackie. And by extension, the beach.”

“Okay?”

“That’s it. That’s all.”

Jack sighs and wraps his arms around Davey’s waist. “Davey, love, you gotta give me a little bit more. I ain’t sure I understand.”

“It isn’t that important.”

“If it’s important to you, it’s important to me,” Jack says. Davey leans backward so that he can be sure Jack will see as he rolls his eyes. Jack snorts. “What? I don’t make the rules.”

Davey shakes his head. “You don’t follow them either.”

“That’s beside the point. I follow the important ones. Like the one that says what you care about, I care about.” Jack nudges Davey with his knee. “Or, y’know, the one that says when you love someone, you tell ‘em the truth.”

“Even if it’s stupid?” Davey’s voice is nearly a whisper.

“Sure.” There is a pregnant pause, and Jack knows that Davey does not believe him. “But it ain’t,” he tries, tightening his arms around Davey.

Davey smiles, just a little, before his eyes fall back to his knees. “It just—the ocean, the beach, whatever—it all just reminds me of when we came here.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we left home. To come to America.”

Davey says this as though it is obvious, as though Jack should have known. But they do not talk about this. They never have. Their pasts are sketches without contours, limited and not for anyone else to see, even each other.

Jack knows the patterns of Davey’s breath, when he is about to come apart. Davey knows the set of Jack’s muscle and bone, when he should not be touched. And these are things that they know now because of what happened then. But neither knows why.

Life now is fleshed out, painted in vivid color; life before should be tucked away, only to be used for reference when strictly necessary. Jack knows Davey was not born here; Davey knows that Jack’s name is not the one his mother gave him. That is enough. No one ever told them they could say more—men don’t, are not supposed to—so they do not. Have not.

“Oh. Right.”

It is not the right thing to say. “I told you it was stupid,” Davey moans. He shakes off Jack’s arms and stands, hissing when his feet hit the cold planks.

Jack grabs him by the wrist, pulls him back down to the bed. “Stop that. Do you want to—”

But Davey is already having a different conversation with himself. “I mean, it wasn’t all on the ocean. We had to walk. And take a train.”

“I’m thinkin’ that’s not the point.” Jack interjects to remind Davey that he is there.

“No.”

“Davey—”

Davey stands again, and this time, he is prepared for the cold. He shuffles to their scuffed dresser and digs out two sweaters. They are both his, but he tosses one to Jack. Davey pulls his sweater down over his head, fighting his way into the arms, and even though Jack knows he shouldn’t, he smiles when he sees that somehow, Davey’s hair has split off in six new directions.

Davey slides open another drawer, produces a pair of socks that Sarah knitted ages ago. He jams them onto his feet, and he does not sit back down. He is shifting his weight back and forth, pulling at the cuff of the sweater, running his fingers through his destroyed hair. He cannot be still. “Mama and Papa tried to make it all sound like it was going to be this big adventure. Especially the boat.”

“Oh,” Jack says. The arms of Davey’s sweater are too long on Jack’s arms. He cannot see his hands. 

“Yeah.”

“Was it—” Jack begins, but he isn’t sure what he wants to ask.

Davey is pacing the braided rug, and he doesn’t wait for Jack to finish. He answers a question that hasn’t been asked. “It wasn’t like here, Jackie. Home. We had a house there. It wasn’t big or anything, but it was ours. And we knew everyone. Everyone knew each other. It was—everywhere felt like some place you belonged. But—I guess that wasn’t really true. We didn’t belong everywhere. Or at least, some people didn’t think so.”

Jack knows that he cannot say anything, that Davey will clam up again. But he tries to imagine little Davey, all knobby knees and gangly arms. He would be hand-in-hand with Sarah, her braids wild and his dark hair unkempt from playing, running somewhere wide open. Jack thinks of the fields he’s painted on backdrops, of how Davey and Sarah might have looked bounding through them. There must be fields in Poland. Everyone would have known who they were, Jack is sure. _There they go_ , people would have said. _What fun they must have!_ Davey’s smile would have been gap-toothed and easy.

“A lot of things happened before we left, when Sarah and I were babies. We were far enough out of the cities that we were spared most of it, but it never really stopped.”

Davey does not say what the “things” were, but it doesn’t matter; Jack understands.

“That must have been scary, darlin’.”

“It was, for Mama and Papa,” Davey agrees. “Sarah and I didn’t really understand. But when Mama found out she was pregnant with Les—when Sarah started getting older, old enough that the soldiers might pay attention to her—they decided it wasn’t safe. That we had to leave. Quickly, while Mama could still travel.

“And they told us how beautiful America was. That there weren’t soldiers on the streets. No one screamed at you for going to shul. No one took things from you just because you were Jewish. And there would be a boat.”

“On the ocean,” Jack says evenly. 

“On the ocean,” Davey repeats. He stops fidgeting for a moment and looks back at Jack. “I thought maybe we would be swallowed up by a whale. Like Jonah.”

Jack does not smile, but he wants to. “Is that why—”

“No. It’s not,” Davey interrupts. His head weaves to the side for a moment, his jaw tight. “I didn’t want to go, Jackie. And until we got on the ship, I thought maybe we’d go home. We had to—we had to leave my Bubbe and Zayde. Mama’s parents. They wouldn’t go. And maybe the trip would’ve been too much for them, I don’t know. But I didn’t want to leave them, Jack. I didn’t want to leave any of it.”

“I know,” Jack says. He puts his feet on the floor and moves to wrap his arms back around Davey. They stand together on the rug. Jack presses his naked toes on top of Davey’s stocking feet. “I mean, I don’t, but—”

Davey nods. “I know. But when we got on the boat—ship—I knew. I knew we wouldn’t ever see them again. Any of it. Because the ocean’s just like you said. But I didn’t feel big at all. Just small. And every wave took us farther and farther away from Bubbe and Zayde, away from home.”

Davey is taller. If anyone walked in just now, it would look like Davey is holding Jack. But he isn’t. Jack is holding Davey. “Davey. Love.” 

Davey’s back shudders under Jack’s hands. “I thought that if the waves just stopped, we wouldn’t make it. We wouldn’t have to come here. But you can’t stop them. That’s what I found out. Sarah and I spent a lot of time on deck, and she was so excited, and I—I just kept praying for the wind to fail. For the ocean to flatten out like the pond by our old house. But it didn’t.”

“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” Jack says. He rubs his hands across Davey’s back in slow, even strokes. 

“And I’d just stand there and watch the stupid waves, and they started to feel like a wall, you know? Or—I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean. I just—I hated it. It ruined everything.”

Jack leans back. “But it didn’t, did it?”

“What?” Davey asks. His nose and eyes are red, and when Jack reaches up to touch his face, the skin is cold and prickly.

Jack pushes up on his tiptoes, presses a soft kiss to Davey’s cheek. “The ocean didn’t ruin everything. I know it prob’ly felt like it did then, but it didn’t.”

“I know,” Davey sighs. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

Jack laughs. “Thanks for that!”

Davey’s eyes immediately widen. “Jackie, I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t, doll. Go ‘head. Say what you need to.” Jack’s hands slide to Davey’s hips.

Davey shrugs. “I guess that’s it.”

“You’re done?”

“I’m done. That’s it,” Davey sniffs. “That’s why I don’t like the ocean. The end.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not the ocean.”

“Nah. But I can’t quite hate it.”

Davey’s fingers move to trace Jack’s cheek. “You don’t have to hate it just because I do. Or is that one of the rules?”

“No, it ain’t one of the rules, smart ass,” Jack snorts. He puts his hand on top of Davey’s and leans into the touch. “But can I—would you be mad if I tried to say somethin’ on the ocean’s behalf?”

“If you must.”

“I must,” Jack says, and Davey laughs, because it is not something Jack would ever say. “Because you’re missin’ somethin’ important.”

“What’s that?” Davey asks. He leans down to kiss Jack’s cheek, and Jack wraps his arms around Davey’s neck, holding him close.

“I get what you’re sayin’. About your grandma and grandpa. About your home. But maybe the ocean knew somethin’ you didn’t.”

“It’s not sentient, Jack,” Davey mumbles into Jack’s hair.

“Shut up for a second.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Jack chuckles. He leans back so that he can see Davey’s face, reaches up to take Davey’s pink cheeks between his ink-stained hands. His thumb circles the dark hair at Davey’s temple. “Maybe the ocean wasn’t takin’ you away from somethin’. Maybe it was bringin’ you to where you ought’a be. Every wave was keepin’ you safe and bringin’ you to me.”

Davey’s eyelids flutter. “I never thought of it—”

“A’course you never,” Jack says. He kisses him, hard, and pitches his voice low and soft. “And you ever think about the fact that when you put your feet in the ocean, you’re actually closer to the folks you left behind? That it’s the thing you can both touch at the same time?”

“There isn’t any ocean in Poland,” Davey says, wrinkling his nose. He looks at the space above Jack’s head, considering. “I mean, I guess there’s a sea, which would eventually lead to the ocean, but it’s pretty far north.”

“Darlin’, you’re very smart. But I think you’re missing the point.”

Davey’s hands squeeze Jack’s shoulders; the extra fabric from the sweater bunches in his fingers. “I’m not. I swear I’m not. And I—you’re very sweet, Jackie.”

“Don’t tell nobody.” 

“It’s our secret.”

And then the conversation stops. Davey leans down to cover Jack’s lips, and their bodies crush feverishly together. Jack tries to steer Davey back toward their bed, and they hop, shuffle, squirm until the back of Davey’s knees hits the mattress and he falls backward, taking Jack with him. They land with a thud, but they don’t stop to notice. Jack’s legs are spread apart, his knees tucked neatly on either side of Davey’s thighs, and his hands are in Davey’s hair, tugging at his sweater, pulling his union suit down and away until Davey is bare in front of him.

“Davey?” Jack kisses the space just below Davey’s navel, letting the tip of his nose brush against the fine trail of hair.

Davey shivers a little and knots his fingers in Jack’s hair. “What, love?” His voice is high, full of breath. 

“Can I tell you somethin’ else about the ocean?”

Davey half laughs. “Sure,” he says, but his belly is twitching under Jack’s chin.

“When you really stop and look at a wave, it’s four colors at once.”

“Fascinating,” Davey mumbles absently.

“It’s true. It’s blue—” Jack slides the length of his body up so that he can kiss the underside of Davey’s chin, “green—” the hollow of his throat, “grey—” his breastbone, “brown.” 

“Mmm,” is the only response Davey can manage.

“Your eyes are like that, y’know. Blue—” Jack’s lips trail to the concave skin above Davey’s diaphragm, “green—” his tongue darts into Davey’s belly button, “grey—” he kisses the flesh just above the thatch of hair between Davey’s legs, “brown.”

“Are they?” Davey breathes.

Jack wants to laugh, because, just now, he cannot see Davey’s eyes. They’ve rolled back into his head, hidden behind dark, fluttering lashes and the paper-thin skin of his jittering eyelids. “They are. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“The waves?”

“Shaddup,” Jack says. He nips at the angle of Davey’s exposed hip. “And there’s somethin’ else.”

“What else, Jackie?” Davey whispers. He opens his blue-green-grey-brown eyes. Prussian blue. Cerulean. Ultramarine. Green-gold. He tilts his chin toward his chest so that he can smile at Jack.

“There’s the way they move. The way they lap forward. They way they roll.” Jack demonstrates by reeling his hips flesh against Davey’s. He pins Davey’s wrists above his head and skims his teeth over the soft pink of his earlobe.

“I thought you wanted to go to the beach,” Davey manages to say between gasps. He is rolling now too, a wave against Jack’s shore.

Jack laughs throatily, his breath hot in Davey’s ear. He pulls away and sits up, just for a moment. He likes to look at Davey this way, to know that Davey is his. Someday, he’ll put it in on canvas, Davey’s blushing body in a nest of blankets, his ocean eyes half-open and happy.

It doesn’t matter what happened before, because they have each other now. Jack knows the patterns of Davey’s breath, when he is about to open himself; Davey knows the set of Jack’s muscle and bone, when he needs to be touched and where. They know each other in ways that the past cannot undo.

“I heard it’s freezin’ outside. Maybe we could go another day,” Jack says, resting his hands against Davey’s chest.

Davey is still for a moment. He smiles up at Jack. “We can. We will. I promise. I’ll give it a chance.”

“Awright,” Jack nods. He leans down to press his lips to Davey’s throat. “Davey?”

“Yeah?” Davey says. He deftly rolls them both onto their sides and hooks his leg over Jack’s hip.

“I love you,” Jack murmurs. Davey peels his own sweater off of Jack and kisses his collarbone so softly that Jack almost wants to ask him to do it again, just to make sure that it actually happened. 

“I love you too. I’m glad—I’m glad I’m here. That we made it,” Davey whispers.

“Me too, love. Me too.”

He and Davey disappear beneath the blankets, tangled in their nameless shape. The beach will be there next Sunday.

**Author's Note:**

> I crave validation as much as anyone else, so if you feel up to it, give a shout. :-)


End file.
